


since gods began to make sweet music

by coloredink



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Fluff, Food, M/M, Music, Piano
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 00:17:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5518361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coloredink/pseuds/coloredink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hello,</p><p>I really like your music. Do you take requests? I often have trouble sleeping, and I wonder if you know anything that would help.</p><p>Thanks,</p><p>Will</p><p>P.S. Whatever you’re cooking smells amazing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	since gods began to make sweet music

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deafmusiq](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deafmusiq/gifts).



The osso buco was in the oven, and there was little more to do than wait for the alchemy of fire and flesh to take its course. Hannibal swiped the sweat from his brow with his thumb, washed his hands, and dried them on his apron. The meat would take at least two hours. He would find something to occupy his time.

The baby grand piano took up almost the entire living room of his condo, fighting for territory with the oversized dining table and its heavy wooden chairs. Hannibal eased onto the bench, decided he was in the mood for Rachmaninoff today, and began the first low, bell-like notes of the Piano Concerto no. 2. The swell of violins joined him in his mind, and Hannibal was transported with the longing horns and the sweetness of the oboes to Rachmaninoff’s great sadness.

Evening had fallen by the time Hannibal brought the concerto to an end. He got up to check the osso buco. As Hannibal replaced the lid, he heard a rustle near the front door. He picked up a knife as he went to see what that was about and found a little piece of lined paper tucked under his door. It looked as if it had been torn from a notepad. Written on it, in a rugged, inelegant scrawl:

_ Hello, _

_ I really like your music. Do you take requests? I often have trouble sleeping, and I wonder if you know anything that would help. _

_ Thanks, _

_ Will _

_ P.S. Whatever you’re cooking smells amazing. _

Hannibal stared at the note for a long time. Somewhere in the back of his memory palace, a little voice echoed:  _ Brother, I can’t sleep. Won’t you play something for me? _

His hand tightened around the note. Hannibal crushed it into his pocket and returned to the piano. He sat there for a moment and began to play: easy, recognizable, banal pieces, Beethoven’s  _ Für Elise _ and the  _ Moonlight Sonata _ ; Debussy’s  _ Claire de Lune _ .

Hannibal let his fingers linger on the ending notes of Satie’s  _ Gymnopédie No. 1 _ . He listened, though for what he didn’t know: all he heard was the beat of his heart, the hum of the refrigerator, the quiet tick of the oven adjusting the temperature. Hannibal rose and padded into the kitchen. The osso buco needed another hour. Hannibal decided to read for the rest of the evening.

\-----

The next morning, Hannibal found another note under the door:  _ Thanks _ .  That was all.  Hannibal held it in his hand for a moment before dropping it into the trash can by the door.

Mrs. Cabot, who lived in the unit directly above Hannibal, was in Paris for the next eight weeks, to see her daughter and new grandchild.  She had mentioned to Hannibal that she had sublet her condo to a graduate student at George Washington University.  "He used to be a police officer in New Orleans," she'd told him.  "Now he's studying forensics or criminology or something like that."

Eight weeks, then, to get to know Officer Will, who had trouble sleeping, who liked classical music and the smell of Hannibal's cooking.  And who, according to Mrs. Cabot, was very handsome.

\---

The life of a medical resident is a busy one, and so it was another week before Hannibal had another day to himself.  Anyone else would have gone straight to bed and slept for the next twelve hours, but Hannibal was too wired for sleep, his body alive with victory over death.  He went to Whole Foods still smelling of antiseptic and sweat.

That evening, he placed the poached fish in one container and the rice and roasted sweet potatoes in another.  He carried them up to Mrs. Cabot's unit in a thermal bag and knocked on the door.  It seemed to be a long time before someone opened it just a very little crack.  One blue eye and a bit of scruff peered out at Hannibal.  "Hello?"

"Will?" said Hannibal.

"Yes," the eye replied.

"My name is Hannibal Lecter," said Hannibal.  "I live in the unit below you."

"Oh."  The door opened wider.  Will was smaller than Hannibal had expected, for someone who'd once worked in law enforcement, but he was exactly as handsome as Mrs. Cabot had described, even with uncombed hair and untended beard.

"Are you still having trouble sleeping?" Hannibal asked.

Will blinked.  "I always have trouble sleeping," he said, slow and uncertain, as if he didn't know where Hannibal was going with this.

"I've brought dinner," said Hannibal.  "Foods to promote rest.  And I happen to know that Mrs. Cabot has a piano."

Will hesitated.

"Am I interrupting?" said Hannibal.

"No," said Will.  "I just don't know what's going on.  Are you offering to feed me and play music until I fall asleep?"

"Yes," said Hannibal.  "Please hurry; the food won't keep."

\-----

"Poached salmon with a light basil sauce, steamed jasmine rice, and roasted sweet potatoes," said Hannibal.  "All foods that promote melatonin and potassium production and relaxation."  He drizzled the sauce around the edges of the plate.  "Bon appétit."

"Thank you," said Will, picking up his fork.  "This looks really good."

Hannibal noticed that Will tried a bite of each component separately before combining them: first a bite of the fish, then the rice, then the sweet potatoes, before he began swirling the fish through the sauce and eating it with the rice.  He held his knife in his right hand and his fork with his left.

"Are you a chef?" asked Will.

"A surgeon, actually," said Hannibal.  "Well, one still in training.  I hear that you're in training as well."

"Forensic science," said Will.  "I used to be a cop, in Louisiana, but I got stabbed," he shrugged his right shoulder, which Hannibal could see didn't seem to have full range of movement, "and they said I couldn't patrol anymore."

"So you thought you'd make a move to the lab?" said Hannibal.

"I was hoping for FBI," said Will.  "But we'll see."

Will asked where Hannibal had learned to cook; he was mostly self-taught, though he had had some lessons from his uncle's chef in Paris.  Hannibal learned that Will liked to fish (he praised the freshness and quality of Hannibal's storebought filets, and Hannibal's handling of it).  Will had no true appreciation for classical music; he just "knew what he liked."  Hannibal didn't tell Will about Mischa, who used to fall asleep under the grand piano and had to be carried to bed.

Afterward, Will did the dishes while Hannibal did a series of warm-up exercises at Mrs. Cabot's piano.  "You really don't have to," said Will.  "I don't want to take up all your time.  It was nice enough of you to play for me last week."

"Did it help?" said Hannibal.  "Last week."

"Yeah.  It was nice.  I lay on the couch here," Will gestured, "and listened with the window open, and I fell asleep right there."

"It sounds like an experiment worth repeating," said Hannibal.  "Hopefully somewhere more comfortable than the couch."

"It feels awkward, to go to bed with someone else here," said Will.

"Then don't," said Hannibal.  "You can simply sit and listen."

So Will did, seated on the couch.  Hannibal revisited some of the pieces that he had played last week, such as the Satie's  _ Gymnopédie No. 1  _ and the  _ Claire de Lune _ , but he also added in a number of Bach's keyboard pieces.  They would have sounded better on harpsichord, but alas.  We can't always get what we want.

Hannibal glanced over during Brahms'  _ Lullaby _ and saw Will with his head tipped back, his eyes closed.  He was not quite asleep, but he looked as if he might be very soon.  Hannibal let the piece trail off and sat in silence for a minute.  Will startled awake, one hand coming up to rub at his eye like a sleepy child.

"Sorry," said Will.  "I didn't mean to fall asleep on you."

"Not at all," said Hannibal.  "That was the intended effect."

Will yawned.  "Thank you," he said.  "Really.  This was...really nice."

"You're welcome," said Hannibal.  "Good night, Will."

Eight weeks, Hannibal thought as he gathered his things and took the stairs up to his own level.  Six weeks, now, to get to know Will.  It wasn't nearly enough, but he would make the most of it.

\---end---

**Author's Note:**

> [coloredink.tumblr.com](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [sumiwrites.wordpress.com](https://sumiwrites.wordpress.com/) (if you wanna see the books I've written)


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